Wildflower Tears
by LadyKatsu
Summary: A year has passed without an attack on Kenshin, and the spirit of Battosai the Manslayer is buried deeper then ever. One girl who survived the Revolution but lost her parents to his sword threatens to drag memories back to the surface when they meet.


Authoress here.

Ahh, the smell of new a new story! Maybe with this Kenshin fic, I won't get flamed... (flinches at the thought of older, recently deleted story).

Some definitions:

Inari – shrimp

Hana – flower

Ano – I don't know

Okay, itsy bitsy spoiler coming up. It's unavoidable for the plot of this story, so I just have to say it. It has to do with Shishio, and if you'd rather tough it out and see if they put Kenshin back on the air so you can see the rest, you'd better hit the back arrow and not read this.

_**SPOILER ALERT!**_

Makoto Shishio is dead. He combusted after his fight with Kenshin. After being burned so badly, fighting for more than fifteen minutes would raise his body temperature beyond what is humanly possible and cause his death. Being stupid and arrogant, he ignored that possibility and died because of it.

**START CHAPTER**

"No, no! That's all wrong! Don't swing with your wrists! Use your arms! And follow through with that motion or you'll never get stronger! Are you listening to me, Inari?"

The slightly stocky body of a child was just visible atop a hill, silhouetted by the setting sun. Rays of blood red light danced along the length of a katana clasped firmly in the child's outstretched hands. "I'm trying, Sensei! This is...too heavy!" the child cried out, her desperation for help obvious by her tone.

Her sensei sighed quietly, and moved forward up the hill a few paces. Placing his calloused hands over hers, he steadied the sword as he spoke. "Inari, you've got to learn this." He glanced down at the top of her head, which reached the middle of his muscular abdomen. He was fairly young, perhaps in his early twenties. The child before him never used his real name, Ryuichi, partially because she didn't know it. From the moment they met, he had become Sensei, and she had never called him anything else since he had known her.

Now as he stood behind the child, he wondered if she

She tilted her head backwards, looking at him upside down. "What is it, Sensei?"

Ryuichi sighed again, and tugged the sword from her hands effortlessly, sheathing it at his waist. "That's all for today, I suppose. It's getting dark." He placed his hand on the top of her head and ruffled her soft auburn locks. "Come on. Let's head home."

The child practically ran to keep up him as he strode away from the hill, the katana bumping against his hip. She took three steps for every one of his. If he hadn't been a well-trained samurai warrior, he would have smiled at that small sign of youth.

"Sensei?" Hana broke the temporary silence hesitantly.

Her voice, so eager, so unsure, softened his reply. "What is it, Hana?" he asked, using her real name. He didn't have the heart to call her Inari when she spoke to him like that. He knew she did not particularly appreciate the nickname, but admired him too much to protest when he used it.

"I found a wildflower earlier today! It was really pretty." She stopped talking and looked at the ground for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain what she was trying to say.

"And?" he pressed, glancing down at the small girl beside him.

"Well...I picked it to keep because it was so pretty. And...Sensei, it...it _died_."

He almost laughed until he saw the tears collecting in her eyes. He knew somewhere in his heart that was only a child, and that could make the situation worse. "It died?" he asked, carefully restraining a laugh.

Hana nodded tearfully, sniffling in shame. "I didn't mean to kill it, Sensei, but it was just so pretty that I couldn't help picking it, and then-"

"Hana." She fell silent instantly as he spoke. "That's the way life works. Everything has a purpose, and once it has served that purpose, it dies. It's just another cycle of life, and it's not something you ought to be crying about. Does that make sense?"

She nodded, pondering the thought that her six-year-old mind could not fully grasp. "So does that mean that...someday you and I and everything...we'll all just die?"

Ryuichi smiled and ruffled her hair once more. "In theory, yes, but don't forget. You live in between the inevitable. Hopefully, neither of us will die for a long while."

"Is that what happened to Mommy and Daddy? They died?"

The question caught even the elite samurai off guard, and he was silent for a moment or two. "Yes, Hana," he admitted quietly.

"But since it's just another cycle of life, it's okay, right?" Hana tilted her head up to look at her Sensei's face.

Ryuichi smiled, glancing down at the little girl beside him. "That's right, Inari."

She was quiet again.

"What was the flower for?"

Hana blushed a bit. "Back at the dojo, I made a grave for Mommy and Daddy. It's in the backyard. I buried the kimono I was wearing when you found me, 'cause Mommy made it, and a bracelet Daddy made me. I wanted to put the flower on it. I...I really miss them, Sensei." The tears returned to her eyes despite her efforts to stop them.

"Hana..." Ryuichi said quietly.

"I want them to come back! Why did they have to die, Sensei? Why?" She had stopped walking by this point, and sank to her knees in the tall grass of the field.

**Ten Years Later**

"Much better, Hana! Much better!" Ryuichi beamed at his sixteen-year-old pupil.

Her frame had changed dramatically over ten years. She was now only a few inches shorter than her much-admired sensei. Her stocky frame had smoothed out over the years, leaving her with a medium build. Rigorous training day and night had sculpted her body. She was as strong as many young men her age. The board that fell apart under her blade was proof of that.

She beamed back at him, her emerald eyes squinting shut. "Thank you, Sensei," she replied respectfully, lowering the now-perfect weight katana. She carried the sheath at her waist now. The Revolution that had claimed so many lives had been over for ten years now.

"I think that's enough practice for today," he remarked, casting a glance up to the sky. The sun was directly overhead, marking that it was barely noon.

Noting that as well, Hana gave him an odd look. "Sensei?"

Ryuichi smiled his trademark crooked grin. "You've been working awfully hard lately. I figured it was time for a break. Let's go get some lunch at the Akebeko, what do you think?"

Hana nodded happily. "Sounds great, Sensei!"

"When did you start calling me that?"

Hana shrugged, smirking at him over her shoulder as they started to head towards town. "I think it was probably the day you said I could stay with you."

Ryuichi could remember that day clearly. Recently orphaned, Hana's eyes had called out to him where her voice had not. Tears flowing down her cheeks washed away blood flecks. Curled into a ball in the charred wreckage of her humble dwelling, he had almost passed her by.

Her father had been killed by a rival swordsman, and her mother had committed suicide when she had laid her eyes upon his corpse. She hadn't bothered to feel concerned with her daughter's well being. She had acted before thinking, and thus, Ryuichi had an apprentice.

He, of course, knew who had killed Hana's father. It was different then, during the revolution. Those who fought against hopeless odds usually died, but for some reason that did not deter her father from stepping directly in the path of Battosai the Manslayer.

Although he had only seen Battosai once in his lifetime, the face was etched into his mind. Piercing amber eyes and flaming red hair. The color of his dark gi matched that of his heart. Rumor had it that he was living nearby, a rurouni now, Kenshin Himura. Hana had seen her father being murdered. Although she never spoke of it, Ryuichi knew. If she were to see Kenshin, she would realize who he was.

Hana was eyeing him curiously. "Sensei, you seem preoccupied."

"I am."

"Oh." Hana frowned a bit. "Will you tell me why?"

Ryuichi smiled to clear his mind. "Not now."

Hana was quiet for a moment. "Sensei, have you heard about that man living nearby?"

"No. What about him?" Ryuichi lied swiftly.

"They say he fought for the Imperialists during the Revolution. I heard people talking that said he's a little short, has bright red hair, and a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek. He sounds familiar, but I don't know why."

Changing the subject deftly, Ryuichi asked, "Anything special you'd like for lunch?"

Hana stopped walking. "You changed the subject, Sensei. You know. I can tell."

"Hana." Ryuichi halted as well, and reached out an arm to place on her shoulder awkwardly. "Please, Hana. Don't make me tell you."

Hana met his gaze unflinchingly. "I need to know, Sensei. The only subject you never mention is my family, so I know it had to do with them." Ryuichi was silent. "Sensei, I saw them die. He's the one who killed my father, isn't he?" Hana was oddly calm in her manner of speech. She had wasted far too many tears crying about that which she could not change.

Early on, she had learned that her tears, no matter how much she could wish, would never bring her parents back to her. Nothing could. She had accepted that what she could not change, even though it had taken years.

"I do not wish to talk about it. Let's just get lunch." Ryuichi's tone was oddly icy and final in its manner.

Hana slowly nodded, letting the subject drop. She would bring it up again during lunch, and was fairly sure that he was well aware of that.

**Meanwhile**

Kenshin Himura smiled as Ayame and Suzume ran ahead of him towards the Akebeko. All the residents (and freeloaders) at the dojo were headed out for lunch. Kenshin smiled happily at the children before him. Battosai the Manslayer was buried inside of him deeper than ever when he saw the children playing.

His sandaled feet crunched ever so slightly on the grass as he crossed the front lawn. Kaoru matched his pace, her face glowing with happiness.

Life was good. Kenshin had temporarily settled down in the Kamiya Dojo, he had been successful in defending the people he cared about, and his past had remained buried for nearly a year now.

Since Shishio had died, Kenshin had not had to fight anyone for an unusually long time.

His life as Battosai was rapidly fading into mere memories, and he didn't mind.

END CHAPTER

So, what's you think? I hope maybe this one will be better than my other Kenshin fic. Which I deleted. I know it's blasphemy, but that one was my very first fic and sucked. Badly.

So, you know what to do. Read and review! That way, I know if I should try to keep it going. Kenshin isn't on the air anymore, so I haven't seen it in awhile...but I can try writing this anyway.

Authoress slinking away.

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